Singing a Lullaby for the Moon
by paper planes on fire
Summary: The things we have lost are the things that never truly leave us. A war, a victory for Konoha and Sasuke only begins to understand this. GaaraNaru, NejiNaru, one-sided SasuNaru.


And the next plot bunny knocked me across my head- let me present you my one-shot frivolity:

Title: Singing a Lullaby for the Moon

Rating: T

Pairing: (Slight but intended) NaruGaaraNaru, NaruNejiNaru (NejiNaruGaara), one-sided, dubious SasuNaru

Disclaimer: I might be insane, but even I do not believe that I own Naruto- Kishimoto does.

Summary: It's the things we've lost, that never truly leave us. A war, A victory and Sasuke who only begins to understand. GaaraNaru, NejiNaru, one-sided SasuNaru

Music: Kokia; Sandame, Nana OST.

* * *

The wild leaves will dance

stoking a thirsty fire

even stone will burn

* * *

It all starts, unusually enough, with a Haiku.

And while he has not been Kage for a long time, has actually just recently stumbled into the profession- not that he will admit it, the stumbling that is- he is sure that things like this do, under normal circumstances, not involve a _poem_ of all things possible.

Who has, after all, need for sweet words when a war was on their doorstep, leaving crimson footsteps and silver tears in its wake?

No, Sasuke is sure that a Haiku is _not_ the way to go about it.

Especially not one as poorly written as this one. Glaring at the paper, wishing it to be in ashes- but not able to morph it into those himself because of the haunting looks the Oto nin around him bestow on him- he places it on the table and shoves to the_ backbackback_ of his mind.

He does not expect to see it again, does not ponder about it again, does not wonder who and why it was send to him for a long, long, _longer _time.

He was, after all, always a master in denial.

* * *

He is twenty and dying and terribly cold when he understands, finally, that not accepting is _not _not-existing.

It is, in truth, not even _close _to. The sky does not fade out of existence, just because there is one snow-hearted, cloud-souled, star-eyed person who is too ignorant to see it.

Standing outside, not lost but not home either, the black haired _youthmanavengerjokejokejoke_ traces the horizon with his paranoid, putrefactive, permanent vermilion eyes as though he is waiting for it to move--

as though he is waiting for the horizon, the end of the world, to swallow him and his lies and his deceit and his heart that just won't _go_ finally, completely.

Nothing happens, nothing changes and Sasuke surpresses the shiver clawing at his skin. His throat constricts, tastes like yesterday's blood, like chilhood fears and he clenches his fists, standing alone in the cold.

Behind the door at his back, in that room, in his_ office_ are voices. Talking, deceiving, worrying voices . Oto is small and while he is strong- while he thinks so, at least- the new infant country, the infant Kage have no experience as to how to deal with things like this--

things like molten threats, ember fights, or, as it is now, a lava-hot war.

They -not he, because he always knows, even if he is blind and foolish and little- do not know how to deal with a war that was prophesied by a Haiku, one that he has all but forced himself to forget-

a poem he can not recall just as he can not relocate the whirlpool blue of those eyes, just as he can not remember the voice of promise, of warmth touching him any longer.

The sun sets, dyes the ground in blood and he waits to see something he was always and forever blind to.

He thinks:

Iwa is at war--

with Konoha

and realises, almost, that he _feels_.

* * *

He is displaced, misplaced caught in a world that he does not want and that has thrown him over its edge.

Hanging in mid motion, disbanded in thin air it is all he can to do breath and it is probably too much to ask him to smile.

The man has mastered the art of existing, living though, is not, was not his cup of tea, ever.

Cutting his eyes at the other Kage, their robes being ripped by the unloving arms of the wind, all Sasuke can do is to wait for his heart to wither a bit more, to cultivate another crack, so that he can look at the disaster and not feel a thing.

Otogakure is all but a distant dream- a never forgotten _nightmare_, while he is standing at the border of taki no kuni with both the Mizu and the Raikage, waiting for --

_something._

It is almost surprising to see a war that is fought without allies. Neither Sound, nor Cloud, nor Water have been asked to chose sides, to help in this bloodshed of insanity.

It is a war that started with an anticipated surprise attack, Rocks trying to break and crush and bury every Leave, Fire hissing across the Earth, terminating, devouring any trace of corrupt life, plucking rotten seeds while its own roots where trying to anticipate it.

It was like a picture book version of a horror tale.

They were not asked to interfere, they were not wanted, but they came to watch anyway, came to play, to be voyeurs pleassuring themselves on the blood of others. Somewhere beneath the violent clouds Sasuke sees the Raikage fidget, shooting hungry gazes to things left unseen--

and he recognises the destruction in the shadows of the Kage's mind, in the lines of his face, simply because they are so very, very _familiar_, so very, very cold.

Like the arms of a dead lover, who left silently, never to return.

He wonders:

Why does lightning call for fire? Why do the clouds want to rip the leaves apart?

The Uchiha harbours both things inside his body, flame and thunder in a turbulent, pseudo-controlled mess, and he almost remembers the feeling of ribs breaking like twigs in front of his fingers,_ because_ of his fingers.

He knows this:

Fire and Lightning can not be consoled, and maybe he wants to have an excuse, once again, but he thinks that those things writhering inside of him make him kill himself, make him kill the things keeping him alive, make him, make him, make him...

the thought gets snubbed before it can fester; the black hair moves with the wind and hides the things_ that-are-not-can-not-be_, the things that lurk, restlessly, in his eyes.

He pushes his feet harder into the ground, waiting for the other Kage to make his move, waiting for him to go against the place he once called home, waiting for the hunger to raise its head and wreck chaos, once again; Sasuke will not stop him, he keeps telling himself that he does not care--

that he can bear to watch Fire being consumed by Earth and blanketed, viciously, by Cloud.

All it takes for the other male is a single step, a mouth opening to give a signal, and the wind picks up and whispers, _threateningly_, telling a tale with the earth as its backup vocals.

When he turns his head away from the Raikage he sees the ground rise, creating a wall, forbidden and strong,_ resulute_ which embraces hi no kuni protectively, lovingly. Sasuke inhales, exhales and the Kazekage appears in front of them.

Arms crossed, eyes teal-green, burning like a chemical flame he shows, that there are strings that do not need to be plucked to ring aloud, shows, while standing between them and_ them_, that Sand never needed to be asked to pick sides.

"You're not," the redhead proclaims,"to interfere._ He_ has not asked for your assistance and has therefore not given you the right to act upon those desires of yours."

The part, the nocturn where the Kazekage states, that whoever wants to go to_ him_ has to go through Gaara is silent, but not translucent; Sand's love stands proudly, not as vibrant as that of fire, but by no means weaker.

Sasuke sees this:

An immortal alliance, forged with blood but watered with soaked sunshine and stubborn laughter.

* * *

Times perishes away and he watches as the clouds show silver lining and become tinted red.

A moment later, there is the sound of a combustion, a moment later, there are yells clawing at his skin and the scream of wind and suddenly the clouds are_ lickedstabbedpiecred_ by tongues of sanguine fire.

He takes a step back, raises his head, for once, not in arrogance, and watches as the tower of flame that has been burning behind Sand's protection expands and turns at its center blue.

_-fireblue like blue bruises, blue tears, blue horrors, like scorching blue eyes._

Gaara's nightmare mouth moves, a cool line morphing into a smile and then there is a man appearing,_ literary_, out of thin air-

someone who does not know about impossible and far-fetched and_ weakness_, someone who weaves bonds and promises like dreams and white-hot burning stars.

There is blond hair, like a halo, tan skin that stretches across a strong-willed tool, a heart beating loudly beneath a chest he has torn ahole, an _abyss_ into. There are those_ eyes_, the mouth that can draw endless futures and the necklace of death laying across an unyielding collar bone. There is the head of the Tsuchikage in those maddening hands...

The hardheaded, blood stained head of the Tsuchikage, sans its body.

The rokudaime Hogake does not say anything, nobody does, actually. It seems that all they can do is breath and try to drown their fear and wonder in air, in the ashes still fluttering through the wind.

Green and Blue meet, gentle and the once-upon-a-time monsters appear to be speaking, without making a Sound.

The sand wall, this sandcastle of dreams in modern times, falls away and the tower of flame which encircles Konoha becomes something they -he himself- can not not see, becomes, within a single moment, in a single day, something of a warning, a promise-- and they all know that Naruto does not own another promise that he can or will allow to break.

--the Uchiha does not even special when he thinks, that he is that _one_ promise, that has been forgotten? _pain_ Abandoned? _anger_ Broken? _truth._Sasuke would like to think that he does not feel anything at all, but the truth is, that he can not feel nothing and has, therefore, to feel everything between dark and gory and painful to things he can not bring himself to think about.

He knows that the eyes of the other Kage hurt too, looking at this sign of power that makes the air dance and bends their reality in all kinds of directions is ridiculously painful; Sasuke, however, also knows that it is not the fire that hurts his own eyes, makes them, slowly, carefully, bleed into his paint-it-black heart.

A part of him realises, that the war is, without a Kage to inject, infest rage into his people, over, but Sasuke does not truly, does not really, take note of that.

The youngold man thinks, that looking at Naruto is like looking at his own gravestone--

there are so many things he has lost, thrown away, things and feelings and futures he can no longer hold in his death hands, and Naruto, the boy-not-grown-man-but-legend is the breathing, walking memorial of all things gone.

It is an odd sensation to be alive when you have barely anything to call your own.

* * *

The village is_ celebrating_-

and Sasuke doubts that they even _know_ what exactly they are happy about. Judging from the decoration, the lamps and laughter riding the sky and the shadows dancing around the light it could virtually be anything from the sun to a birthday--

it is morbid to stand here, within the mayhem of happiness, when he knows, that, in truth, they are celebrating someones's death, someone's spilt blood.

Furrowing his brows, Sasuke decides, not doubts, _decides_, as though he knows, and understands, and cares, that these people do not know where their cheerfulness originates from: the fools of Leave would not dance if they were aware that the bonfire is feeding on the head of a man, of another being.

Even the other Kage seem to only remember the death because of of their fear; it is odd to look at the faces of these shinobi and see those petrified eyes almost getting swallowed by their smiles.

He finds their behaviour, their masks of flesh, _obtuse_, but he can not turn away in this village that once habroured his renegade heart.

Mix these things:

Indignation, anger, rage and illness. Anxiety, eagerness, will and loneliness.

Bake them fast and without care and you will come to know what travels through the Uchiha's veins with poisonous speed.

He should have thought about it, he thinks, that being Kage means travelling and visiting other hidden villages, that having faced enourmos foes has made the shinobi fight against and bond against every possibility for more death.

With Stone purged and having a new Kage, with Cloud tamed and being watched, he has to get used to seing Naruto and to being where he does not want to be, but is too much himself to back away.

The Otokage looks into the fire, hears the laughter and decides that it could also be that Konoha _ knows_ what they are celebreating and has, simply, finally, come to the conclusion that sacrifices, prices, deaths do not need to be hidden but actually_ need t_o be laughed at.

Thinking that Naruto has now righted his last promise, that he is here, _against his will_, against his wishes he makes himself believe he has, allows him think, that,_ yes_, Konoha would do something this perverse.

Something like voting, again and again and again, for Oto to be made a regular hidden village, like demanding, hotly, for it to have a Kage, like doing a thousand and one things only to be able to _dragpulldrag_ him back.

A child falls in front of his feet, raises its head, and stands up, as though it is normal.

And out of the corner of his eye he sees Naruto surrounded by bonds and promises and smiles.

There are:

Fingers, pale and tan, interwoven into a messy, chaotic heart. A hand, resting at his elbow, stroking at the warmth, at the sky running beneath this precious body. There is the Kazekage, _Gaara_, gazing at their clasped digits and looking warm and strong without being close to the fire. There is the Caged Bird, _Neji_, standing, physically, a step behind Naruto, but being, emotionally, directly at his side just like _alwaysalwaysalways._

They lock gazes, those two former friends and Sasuke swallows forcefully.

He might perceive Naruto as a fool, but those eyes are heartskip blue and force Sasuke to move his jaw, because--

there are memories and whispers of thoughts in his throat, lying, heavily on his tongue. It will not take long and those thoughts will rob him of the last thing he has; the belief that what he did was right and the price not bone-melting, spine-shattering high.

Sasuke is twenty, washed ashore at a place he has only remembered in his dreams and chokes on the lullaby created, specifically, for his own illusions.

* * *

There are certain songs one should not listen to; not too often at least. And there are certain voices one should not listen to, either. I did both, and we see what happens...what I should, maybe, point out is that this is not out of Sasuke's POV, it is me looking at him. This becomes apparent in the words I chose and how I phrase the sentences. Also: I actually thought about the location of the hidden villages before I chose their meeting point and taki no kuni seemed the most sensible choise. Only the Mizukage has to travel a lot, and that is alright, because he, too, sides, albeit silent, with Konoha(in my mind, at least).

I fear that I befuddled people again ..._please_ leave me a review and tell me what you think?


End file.
